


Whenever You're Ready

by louis_lucid_dreams



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Other, Physical Abuse, Stalking, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louis_lucid_dreams/pseuds/louis_lucid_dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THE REVOLUTION IS COMING AND ZAUGHTY WILL RISE.<br/>Naughty Boy has been searching, searching, for what is rightfully his. Ever since Zayn left him, he's been ready, and he'll stop at nothing to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whenever You're Ready

Louis Tomlinson sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

He scrolled through his contacts. Stopped at Zayn.

He pressed talk.

.................................................................................................................................

Smooth brown skin  
Turns red red red  
Runs up his arms  
And down his head

Naughty Boy was what most people would call a stalker. Had he been following around the boy of his dreams for several weeks? Yes. Had he been writing disturbing poetry about this boy? Well, maybe. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that some idiot had accused him of stalking. Which might have been true (but it wasn’t). And, so. He had to get out of sight, go undercover. And fast!

“Please, man, you have to help me,” Naughty Boy groaned, hopping from foot to foot in order expel some of his excess energy. “It’s the only way!”

“The only way for what, exactly?” asked the man whom Naughty Boy was conversing with (it was Liam Payne, as a matter of fact, but that hadn’t seemed too important at the time). The man continued, “So, let me get this straight: You expect me to just invite you inside, give you food and a bed and stuff for free, and not turn you in to the police?”

“Exactly!” Naughty Boy smiled, surprised this was all going so well. He’d expected some sort of suspicion, at least.

Alas, Naughty Boy was always right. And now here the suspicion was. Right again!

“No way!” Liam shouted, startling the slick producer and causing him to jump back a few inches. “You’re actually serious?! You little pig! I get home at five o’ clock in the bloody morning, I’m busy all day, and minutes after I’m sat down, having dinner with my girlfriend, you of all people turn up on my doorstep and ask for a place to stay!? I. Cannot. Believe. You.” 

And he slammed the door in Naughty Boy’s face.

“Oh, well,” Naughty Boy sighed. “Better luck next time.”

....

The truth was that Naughty Boy did not have better luck next time, or anytime, in fact. He spent the night behind a dumpster, eating whatever edible bits of rubbish he could scavenge, and the next few days in his usual fashion, obsessively tracking the movements of his most interesting former friend (the one and only Zayn Malik).

On the third day, Naughty Boy simply could not take it anymore. After being evicted from his flat weeks earlier, he hadn’t thought to pack up any of his clothes before angrily leaving the building, taking only his phone, iPod, and trusty notebook (an old sketchbook of Zayn’s, and valuable beyond the farthest stretches of your imagination) and as a result had been stuck in the same Zaughty tracksuit for almost a month. Wandering about, homeless and hungry, he had tried many times to find a place to stay (like with that demon, Liam) or at least take a nice shower, but it seemed that the current generation was one of evil snobs, as not one single person had offered him these basic human rights.

Furthermore, Zayn had recently caught on to his (perfectly alright!) habit of following him around, and reported immediately to the police. So now he had to watch out for them, too. 

This would not do. Now that Naughty Boy thought about it, this was, simply put, Unacceptable.

“Enough!” he screamed, earning him a few worried looks from passing pedestrians. “No,” he growled, grabbing the nearest one by the shoulders (they screamed, and their companion drew out their mobile and dialed triple 9, but Naughty Boy didn’t think much of it at the time). “You have to understand! I cannot live like this anymore. I just—can’t, okay?! So you’d better help me, alright? Help me rise again. Long live Zaughty! ZAUGHTY REVOLUTION!!!” His victim finally squirmed away, and, still screaming, turned and sprinted down the street. Their friend gave Naughty Boy a haughty look and turned to follow.

Naughty Boy gaped after them, stunned. He had taken action, he had stood up for what he believed in... And nothing had happened. Nothing had changed.

He sank to the curb and started thinking, thinking, thinking.

Not long after, he heard sirens.

....

“I think I’m being followed.”

“No way!”

“Yes.”

“By who? Is it Lewis?”

“No... It’s Naughty Boy.”

“Bloody hell!”

“I know.”

....

I met a boy  
And loved him so  
I told him stay  
But still he’d go  
I wonder now  
From where I lie  
What secrets were  
Behind those eyes?

....

Assault. That’s what they’d called it. Before they locked him up. And they said he matched the description of a ‘stalker’. As if. What he did was not called ‘stalking’.

It was called necessary.

“Hey, at least give me a shower,” Naughty Boy pleaded with the officer on duty, leaning up against the bars of his holding cell. “You owe me at least a shower!”

“Listen, clever, I don’t owe you anything... Though you do smell,” the policeman sassed, not bothering to look up from his book.

Naughty Boy cursed the day that man was born. This might have helped him, if he was a witch. But he wasn’t. A witch. As far as he could tell, anyway. Just a normal human. With a mission.

An abnormal mission.

Naughty Boy licked his lips and smoothed back his hair. He straightened a few of the wrinkles on his Zaughty tracksuit. Unfortunately this revealed a new grease stain on the side, but he supposed that couldn’t be helped. Anyway, it was action time. “Officer?” he asked innocently, aware of the thumping of his heart, the blood rushing through him, up to his brain, letting him think clearly for the first time in months. He could do this, he could do this. It was time.

“I have to use the toilet,” he said. The policeman looked up. 

SayYesSayYesSayYesSayYes.

“Alright, then,” the police officer said. “Follow me.”

Yes.

....

I have been watching you.  
(Look up, see me.)  
I have a plan to carry through.  
(I know you want to be me.)  
I dare you to look me in the eye,  
(If you ever really cared,)  
And tell me that you never lied.  
(When I called, you’d still be there.)

....

Zayn had never really fancied swimming. Or getting wet at all, for that matter. 

And yet here he was, at a pool party.

“Race you!” Niall yelled from across the deck, before sprinting towards the water (the lifeguard blew his whistle frantically) and executing a sloppy swan dive into the five foot section. “I win!” he gasped, paddling over to the edge of the pool where Zayn was standing.

“I’m not getting in,” he said flatly. “You can’t make me.”

“Argh! Yes you will!” Niall laughed, splashing water at Zayn until he rolled his eyes and sat on the edge. 

“Good enough?” he asked, dangling his feet in the pool. It was a pretty good party, he had to admit, and Liam, the host, had been more than accommodating, offering everyone extra food and drink and stopping any fights that broke out (usually between Simon Cowell and one of his employees).

There was, however, one small problem.

Ben Winston was there. The “life of the party” he called himself.

That was about as far from the truth as you could get.

As of that moment, he was on the other side of the deck, tormenting Harry with endless questions about love, life, and politics.

“So what’s your opinion on the dinosaurs, Harry? That they all died from a meteor? No, let me guess, you think it’s all a load of tosh. Me too! You can’t trust anybody these days, can you, with all the scientists feeding us rubbish information, and the leaders trying to end ‘world hunger’. I mean, you’re not hungry, are you? No! And neither am I. What a load of rubbish!”

Harry gaped at him, clearly at a loss for words.

“I know, I know. You agree with everything I’ve just said. Gosh, you boys are so predictable. I’m getting to know you all too well!” And with that, he turned and walked over to the food table.

Zayn caught Harry’s eye across the water and grinned. Harry shook his head in response, smiling weakly. Ben Winston would never change.

“... and—Hey, are you even listening to me?!” It was Niall, who had been ranting on the whole time about the different types of fruits he’d eaten, grabbing Zayn’s foot to get his attention.

“What? Sorry, Niall, I was watching Ben.” 

“No way! So rude. Well, then, I’ll just go enjoy myself elsewhere.” Niall slipped below the surface and swam away towards Louis, who was lounging on a floaty across the pool.

Zayn sighed happily, letting the summery atmosphere, the white noise of laughter and talk, the gentle breeze, wash over him. 

It really was a good party.

....

“Do you think he’d ever try to hurt you?”

“Sometimes, I... I don’t know.”

“Well, has he ever done it before?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

....

Love must be blind  
‘Cause you don’t see  
The one you really owe  
Is me.

And I won’t mind  
You know it’s true  
So soon you’ll know  
That I own you.

....

Naughty Boy was a very fast runner. He hadn’t known this until just a few minutes ago, when he’d taken advantage of a golden opportunity and sprinted out of the jailhouse (which had been his plan, obviously. He hadn’t really needed to use the toilet). No one could catch him. Not even he had expected that!

He should have, of course. The abilities of a man like him should never be underestimated. He could probably do anything, if he wanted to.

In fact, he was sure of it.

“Zaughty Revolution!” he puffed, jogging along the sidewalk (he wanted to keep moving, just in case the police tried some backhanded move, like setting out for him in vehicles). “The revolution lives on!” Of course, he received the usual responses of the disturbed, disgusted, and sometimes even hateful glares of passing walkers. But he wouldn’t let that bother him now. He had work to do.

“I need your bike!” he said, stopping to talk to a small blond girl who was walking into the public library; he had seen her dismount from it moments before, and though it was pink and covered with unsightly ribbons, any form of transportation would have to do. If only she would say yes.

The girl looked around uneasily. “Erm... Who are you?” she asked, her voice high pitched with fear.

Naughty Boy scoffed. “You’re seriously going to pretend that you don’t know me? Come on, even you can’t be that stupid. I’m on the cover of every magazine in a world-wide range! I’m the richest man in England! The leader of a new revolution! And you’re trying to pretend that you don’t even recognize me?!” He rolled his eyes.

The girl fixed him with a steely glare. “My mum is just down the street,” she said icily. “If I call for help, she’ll come.” She raised her eyebrows defiantly, balling her little hands into fists.

Naughty Boy was confused. “What do you need help with?” he asked. “Come on, just give me the bike! Just do!” he stumbled forward (hey, he was still a little tired from that run earlier, anyone would be) and grabbed her bony wrist.

The girl screamed. “HELP, SOMEONE!” she cried, wrenching out of his sweaty grasp and jumping away. “THIS MAN IS ATTACKING ME!” Eyes welling up with tears, the girl leapt back on her bike and pedaled away, wobbling around parked cars and going faster than was usually advisable.

Naughty Boy wiped his hands on his tracksuit nervously; there was no possible way he could have seen this coming. And now the pedestrians weren’t only regarding him with distaste, but with actual fear.

He gulped. Drastic times took drastic measures.

Naughty Boy began running again, this time towards the residence of a known celeb.

Don’t feed the hand that bites you.

When you want something done, do it yourself.

....

There was no such thing as freedom. Everybody belonged to somebody, or owned someone else.

Or at least, that’s what he’d heard.

That was what caused most of their arguments.

It wasn’t his fault. Really. He was just misguided.

Once in a while, though, you’d need to teach him a lesson.

Just to be sure.

....

I am old and wise and strong  
You are weak and shy and young  
You need me now, but won’t admit  
That when I tried to feed, you bit.

....

Zayn had gotten in, after all. Something about the atmosphere—the perfumes of flowers heavy in the air, the streaks of pink just beginning to stain the blue sky, the heat of a summer’s day finally giving way to a cool breeze—was simply intoxicating. He couldn’t help but feel alive, refreshingly so, and sometimes that made him do crazy things.

Like swim, for instance.

“What would you do if a shark attacked you?” Niall demanded, swimming up to his friend’s side. He had been in the water virtually all day, arriving before the other guests to help Liam set up, but deciding against the ‘help’ part of the equation when he had set eyes on Liam’s pool.

He had awful sunburn.

“Um. Play dead?” Zayn guessed, sliding down in the water so that only his head remained dry (he still couldn’t stand having wet hair, even though it was so short now that it didn’t really matter). 

“Wrong!” Niall yelled, splashing Zayn as punishment. “Then it would eat you! You gotta keep moving. Like a seal.” He turned a somersault.

Zayn waited patiently for him to reemerge before saying, “But... don’t sharks eat seals? Aren’t seals, like, their main source of food?”

“I dunno.” Niall shrugged. “You’ve just gotta be fast. And punch it, too.” He splashed again, this time just for the fun of it. 

Too much time in the sun sometimes made Niall loopy. Also maybe the cocktail he’d consumed earlier.

“So, what’s the point of this little quiz, anyway? Are there sharks in here?” Zayn pretended to look frantically around for all the places a shark could be hiding, causing Niall to crack up.

“No!” He said once he’d recovered. “Just informing you.”

Zayn laughed. “Well, thanks, then, I guess,” he said.

And so the night carried on.

....

Naughty Boy had never run this much in one day before, or at least not in living memory. Which, he reasoned, probably meant the same thing. He was tired, yes, but at the same time, he felt more... Alive, than he’d ever felt before. Something about acting the hero, of knowing that he was right, having a plan to carry out—all of it felt like some sort of message, from a greater power, perhaps. 

He thought that the message would go something like this:

 

You are amazing and brave and wonderful, Naughty Boy. Zayn should be grateful that you care about him so much. You are smarter, stronger, and kinder than over ninety percent of the population, and you know what’s best for everyone. If only they’d listen to you, you could all live in an ideal world. But it’s only a matter of time, Naughty Boy. Don’t worry.

 

He wasn’t worried.

....

“Is it scary? Do you ever wonder if he might come back?”  
“Yes.”  
“How do you deal with that? God, I can’t even imagine...”  
“I don’t know. I just try to block it out, I guess.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It’s okay.”

....

Those times I had to lock you up  
I thought you knew it came from love  
And still you like to keep me guessing  
Just when you’re gonna learn your lesson.

....

Have you ever wanted someone—needed them—to do what you wanted, exactly as you said, with no complaints or advice? And if they didn’t, you got angry, didn’t you?

That’s probably a pretty regular occurrence in your life, actually. 

It seems to be common. Normal.

Definitely not ‘inappropriate’.

Of course, he was just naïve. Young. Misguided.

He needed to be taught the truth.

....

The sun was finally setting. Liam and Sophia walked around the yard, igniting the Tiki lamps they’d set up earlier. The flames cast spooky shadows on the grass around them.

“Quite the night, isn’t it?” Ben Winston said, stepping up beside Zayn, who had been watching the party from a corner, alone.

Zayn nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Great party.” 

“I understand that this celebration is for you? Some sort of congratulations party, or something?”

“Yeah, um, you might call it that,” Zayn said uncomfortably.

Ben Winston looked curious. “What’s it for?” he asked, sipping pretentiously from his Mystery Cocktail (the creepy bartender had begun making them a few hours ago, presumably by mixing together other cocktails, but Zayn had seen Alberto grabbing one out of Louis’s hands earlier, yelling that it might be poisoned).

“Erm. Nothing. Just, you know, music and stuff.” Zayn squirmed.

Ben Winston smiled knowingly. “Well, then,” he said, “Congratulations.” He walked off into the dark.

Zayn watched him go, relieved. 

Ben Winston was so annoying.

....

You ran away  
And yet you say  
That I’m the one off track.  
But you don’t know  
How far I’d go  
I’d spill your blood to get you back.

....

“What was the scariest moment?”

“Oh. Well. One time he told me how much he loved me. And he said... Never mind. He didn’t say anything.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And, er—thanks, Louis.”

“Thanks? Thanks for what?”

“For listening.”  
....

It was hard sometimes, you know. When he didn’t listen.

Extra measures had to be taken. Precautions. He didn’t know what he was saying, what he was getting into when he talked about leaving.

So naturally, he wasn’t allowed to leave.

Ever.

Not even for a second. 

But he didn’t like that, either.

And so, he had to be taught his boundaries.

Just a precaution.

 

Somehow, though, he still managed to get out. 

But that was a long time ago.

And this time around, he’d make no such mistake.

 

Precautions.

....

Naughty Boy pounded along the pavement, darkness falling all around him, muffling the thump of his feet on the sidewalk.

Almost there. Almost there.

He slid a hand into the front of his Zaughty tracksuit and retrieved Zayn’s sketchbook, a bit sweaty, perhaps, but preserved none the less, saved from the police department’s sticky fingers by his quick thinking.

Almost there.

He opened it up to a page in the middle. Took his pencil from the secret pocket in his suit. The notebook bounced up and down in time with his stride, making it hard to write on the spiral bound pages. His breathing, loud and fast, filled his ears. He put pencil to paper.

Almost there.

And began to write.

....

I can’t understand  
Why you left me.  
You left my heart broken  
And empty.  
You might think you’re fine  
But you’ll always be mine  
I will teach you  
And keep you so gently.

But if you repeat your betrayal  
I’m afraid there is no other way  
Than to silence you, Angel, forever  
Though the light would go out of my days.

And so I am sending this prayer  
That when you are mine  
You will stay.

....

He’d arrived.

....

It was time to go. “Thanks, Liam,” Zayn said, hugging the exhausted host. Zayn had stayed later than anyone, almost to midnight, but the plan was to sleep at his own house and then meet the boys for breakfast the next day. 

Even Sophia had left before him.  
“No problem, Zayn. It was my pleasure,” Liam beamed, returning the hug with gusto. “Gotta say, though, I didn’t actually think Mr. Director would show up. My mistake.” He laughed, pulling away.

Zayn smiled. “See you later,” he said, walking down Liam’s driveway and onto the sidewalk. “Thanks again!”

“See you tomorrow!” Liam responded cheerfully, before going back inside.

Zayn was alone now, walking down the street with his hands in his pockets. Looking at the ground.

He didn’t see the man ahead, bathed in the yellow light of a streetlamp, his features thrown into sharp relief.

He didn’t see the sketchbook the man was holding above his head triumphantly. Ecstatic. Like he’d won something.

He didn’t see the crazed look in the man’s eyes. Or his Zaughty tracksuit. Or that he was shaking.

He just kept staring at his trainers.

If only he’d looked up.

....

“If you could change anything about it, what would it be?”

“I would’ve left him sooner.”

“You’re really brave, Zayn.”

....

You’re mine  
You’re mine  
You’re mine

Come back  
Come back  
You’re mine

....

The first time he hit him, it was just a warning. If he’d behaved better after that, there wouldn’t have been any need for force.

But young people. You know how they are.

They never listen.

...

Naughty Boy stood shaking, watching Zayn’s slow approach. It was happening. It was happening.

The revolution was now.  
He held the sketchbook high in the air, the poem he’d just finished blazing out into the night. The light of his words shined out past the pages, brightening the trees, the sidewalk, the sky. Everything.

He could see. Everything.

Turns out love isn’t blind, after all.

....

Zayn didn’t see it coming until it was too late. One minute, he was walking along, alone on a summer night, and the next, he was gasping for breath as a hand closed around his throat. Before he could get his bearings, the man choking him slapped his other hand over Zayn’s eyes, obscuring his vision entirely.

He struggled in vain, heart pounding, numb, for what felt like ages. A soft, familiar voice drifted towards him through the darkness, causing his stomach to drop even further.

“...You’re coming home now, Zayn. Don’t worry. Why, you’re going to be part of a new revolution. You should be happy, Zayn. Stop kicking me. No, stop Zayn, stop! STOP!”

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

“I said, CUT IT OUT!” The hand on his throat squeezed tighter, tighter. The other hand, the one that had covered his eyes, now had Zayn’s wrist twisted behind his back. He couldn’t see any better, though. His eyes were open wide, but all he could see was black. Black and black and black. Fuzzy. 

He thought he might be passing out.

“ZAUGHTY REVOLUTION!!!” the man bellowed, squeezing, squeezing.

Zayn tried to scream, but he couldn’t make a sound.

It seemed to go on forever, until suddenly, several things happened at once. The hand disappeared from his throat.

Everything went quiet.

And Zayn went limp in Naughty Boy’s arms.

....

“Hey, sorry, I gotta go to the party in a minute.”

“I know. Me too.”

“See you there?”

“Yeah.”

“Bye.”

....

If someone gets hurt while you’re trying to teach them a lesson, it’s their fault.

They should’ve been paying more attention.

He shouldn’t have stood there and taken it.

If he hadn’t, maybe it wouldn’t have happened again.

When someone swings at you, you hit ‘em right back.

Of course, how was he to know that? He was so young.

Innocent.

Irresistible.

....

THE REVOLUTION IS COMING AND ZAUGHTY WILL RISE  
I can smell through deception  
And see through your lies  
You want me to chase you;  
Your sparkling brown eyes  
Told me as much  
When we said our goodbyes.

Nothing left now  
But the last sacrifice  
The voice of an angel  
In return, paradise  
It seems such a bargain,  
My angel’s demise  
For after defeat  
He’ll help Zaughty to rise.

....

The first thing Zayn saw when he woke up was a pair of wide blue eyes. “Louis?” he asked. Or tried to. Nothing came out.

Where was he?

“Zayn! You’re awake! Oh, thank God!” Louis began laughing and crying simultaneously, grabbing Zayn and hugging him tight to his chest. “You’re in hospital,” he said finally, leaning back to take a closer look at his friend. “Naughty Boy, he attacked you last night, and er—well—luckily you hadn’t gone too far down the street, so, Liam heard someone yelling, and he looked outside and—and—” He was overcome by a fresh wave of tears. “I’m just so glad you’re okay!” he sniffled, seizing a nearby box of tissues and wiping his face messily.

Zayn nodded impatiently. There was silence until Louis finally caught on.

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry. Anyway, Liam ran outside, and as soon as Naughty Boy saw him, he dropped you and ran—you’ve got a bit of a concussion, or more than a bit, apparently you hit your head really hard—but Liam chased after him, and called for the police and ambulance and stuff, so everything was okay. Naughty Boy’s in jail right now. They’re keeping him there until his trial.” He paused to blow his nose. “And also, it turns out that Naughty Boy had stolen one of your sketchbooks, and, like, defaced it, but they gave it to me to give to you, so here’s that—” he rummaged around in his bag and withdrew a small purple sketchbook, which he tossed onto Zayn’s lap, “—and he was choking you for like a really long time. It’s actually really lucky that you didn’t get brain damage. But the doctor said you won’t be able to talk for a while or anything.” He blew his nose again.

Zayn stared at the notebook in his lap, turning each page slowly. It was full of poems—every available inch of space had writing on it; only his drawings had been left untouched. And all of it was about him.

Most of the poetry was deeply disturbing, and some downright scary, but there was one that stood out to Zayn in particular. He showed it to Louis:

The worst thing that you stole from me  
Was every man I’ll never be.  
Who knows; I might be saving lives  
If I hadn’t seen your big brown eyes.

“Creeeeepy,” Louis said, looking up at Zayn.

Zayn narrowed his big brown eyes. “Pencil!” he mouthed urgently.

“Wha—? Oh, here.” Louis pulled an old mechanical pencil out of his bag and handed it to Zayn, who nodded his thanks and set to work writing something in the notebook. When he was done, he turned it so that Louis could see.

There’s something I need to tell you. I never told you guys before because I was afraid you’d get upset. But now I think I’ve got to. I don’t want Shahid back on the streets. I want to tell the truth.

“What happened?” Louis breathed, reaching for Zayn’s hand.

I’m scared.

Louis smiled shakily. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can do this. Take your time. Whenever you’re ready.”

Zayn closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Louis’s hand in his, the fluffy white pillows behind his head. He took in the hospital smells of illness and disinfectant, and something more... Louis’s perfume.

He took a deep breath.

He was ready.

The first time it happened was in September. We were recording a song and got into a fight...

....

When someone betrays you, they should pay. But sometimes it doesn’t work out like that. Maybe they’re a witch, and cast a spell on you with their big, innocent eyes. Or maybe they’re just stupid.

The point is, you are never in the wrong.

It is their fault.

Their fault.

Their fault.

Even if you sometimes think it’s your fault. It’s not.

It’s theirs.

....

I am dreaming  
From a prison cell  
Of stories that we’ll  
Never tell  
Songs we’ll never  
Get to sing.

And other things  
Like all those times  
I’m certain that you’re  
Mine  
Mine  
Mine

And if you ever doubt my power  
I ask you please to just remember  
The day I snatched you from the sky  
Looked in your eyes  
And made you mine.

Those eyes. Those eyes.  
Those eyes.

Those eyes.

 

The End


End file.
